Tales for the Hearth Fire
by Karver
Summary: Tales for the Hearth Fire is a compilation of short stories set in the world of Elder Scrolls, telling untold stories of a wide range of characters while dipping into the deep pools of the Lore where nothing is at it seems.
1. Of Hounds and Men

**Of Hounds and Men**

1

The streets were scorched by the relentless onslaught of the sun, the tiles of the pavement emitting heat under people's feet. But it didn't seem to bother those people at all, the crowded streets being sufficient proof of that. There were still several hours before sunset and the City of Mages wasn't about to stop its activity.

The marketplace in the center of Elinhir was the pumping heart of the city, an overwhelming cacophony of sounds and smells of the people who were like ants in their own anthill. But if the people had to be compared to ants, then they were living in a very chaotic anthill. And chaos always bred opportunity.

Plenty of things had changed from the days of Blackcaster mages or even the days of the Interregnum when Colovian fashion was still popular. The City of Mages was very close to the borders of Skyrim and Cyrodiil, so the cultures often clashed in a strange mix of clothes, architecture, and accents. Elinhir had always been a city of outcasts and the city was still reflecting that in Fourth Era. Redguards were far from the dominating population there for the simple reason that the city accepted pretty much anyone in between its walls and towers.

But mages were still ruling the city, creating a magocracy of sorts. Every noble in the city was a mage, with an ancestorship of mages coming before them. It wasn't as much about blood as it was about the magic. The royal families were marrying their offsprings only to other nobles with considerable magical skills and all these families were combined into a ruling body of Elinhir called the Bright Council, with an Archon being a de-facto governor of the city.

Of course, the city was open to non-mages too, even to the man who was pushing through the marketplace's crowd towards his favourite inn where they were making one of the best roasted boars he ever had the pleasure to eat. And, of course, he needed to wash it down with something, and it could be a coincidence - or maybe not - that the inn was also brewing its own Snakeblood Ale. There was nothing better than Snakeblood Ale. Except maybe roasted boar...

 _Well, if one waits a few centuries there might be something even better than that,_ the man thought as he was struggling to push his way through the marketplace towards the Lower Terrace district. He was a Redguard, but no warrior, and not even strongly built like many of the children of Yoku. No, he was of average height and more than average girth, his big round belly jumping in front of him almost of its own volition. His dark brown skin was beaded with sweat and he licked his meaty lips in exhaustion. _A few more angaids to poor Barun's weight and he should start worrying about his heart giving out._ His eyes suddenly grew wide in terror. _Barun might even slim down before he reaches his destination. The horror! He'd have to order two roasted boars to rectify that._

He finally reached the Lower Terrace and sighed in relief. _Finally through. Barun thinks they really are like ants these people._ Elinhir was divided into three Terraces, each for a certain caste. The Higher Terrace was the district for Elinhir's nobles and mages - which was actually far from mutually exclusive. The Middle Terrace was a commerce district, with mostly shops and warehouses located there, while the Lower Terrace was its own anthill for the little ants that were lowly to sleep at. Or eat. Or kill each other. Crime was ever present there. It was almost ironic how people were bent on killing or just generally harming each other.

The fat man shrugged, fixing his purple shirt, only to notice that the three upper buttons were undone gain. He sighed in exasperation. _This body certainly has its disadvantages._ He exhaled and pulled in his belly, his sausage like fingers commencing a battle of epic scale with his bothersome buttons. He managed to do the first two but the last one was just too stubborn to give in. The man drew a sharp breath and let his hands fall down on his belly in frustration. _Poor Barun outwitted by his own button! Bad, bad button! Barun wants to cry in frustration and shame for he has been defeated._

With a sour face of defeat, he lumbered through the Lower Terrace, heading towards his favourite inn called the Boastful Smiley, called after the owner. Who was also called Smiley and was quite boastful, but Barun liked it. It was amusing listening to that Imperial during a meal - Barun liked entertainment while he was eating.

He took a shortcut through the alleys, just as he did many times before even though the alleyways were a perfect spot for someone to rob him. But he wasn't worried. If anyone asked him what he was doing there, he'd always answer that he was an actor. A good one too. He was known for always staying in character, until, of course, the situation required him to change his role. And so he would simply change it. He wasn't worried, not at all.

It was when he was passing one particulary dark alley that he heard the sound. A weak yowl, a sound of pain and fear. He then saw a faint flash of light from the alley to his right followed by another whimper. A bark sounded then closely followed by a weak howl full of even more pain and Barun involuntarily twitched, resisting the urge to answer. _Not Barun's business, Barun is on vacation and yet he hesitates, forcing himself to resist, to ignore. But can something be completely ignored?_

"Oh for Morwha's teats," the fat Redguard mumbled, his voice completely changing as began walking through the alley, following the sounds.

2

A tall Breton was leaning against the wall of a shabby building in the dark alley, completely lost in his thoughts. He was bored, which wasn't a surprise considering the job he was assigned these days. _Being a nanny to a spoiled brat. Makes me miss the old days of stabbing someone in the back and such. That was certainly more thrilling than this._

"How am I doing, Gaspred?" a voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he focused on the thirteen year old Imperial boy in front of him. The lad was tall for his age, with long blond hair, olive skin, and cruel blue eyes. The boy was currently practicing newly learned shock magicks on some street mutt they found in the alley picking through the garbage.

"Good, my Lord," Gaspred murmured. He looked at the dog, with its short, mangy brown hair which had bits torn out here and there, as well as his scarred muzzle and the blind grey eye that was a contrast to his other normal eye. _Survived few fights on the street, eh, boy? It doesn't matter. You just pulled the short straw today. It happens and there's nothing you can do when the mighty decide to crush you under their heels._

The kid released another short burst of lightning from his hands, watching the dog squirm and yowl in pain. Young Amitian of house Catrinius was clearly enjoying himself. He was the only son of Bright Lord Vasumus Catrinius who had a seat on the Bright Council. There were rumors that he would become the next Archon, for the current one was growing old. _Just don't forget who got you that position, Vasumus,_ Gaspred thought to himself. If it weren't for Gaspred, Vasumus certainly wouldn't have risen so quickly and sometimes it felt like Gaspred wasn't appreciated the way he should be. _I'm the best nightblade in eastern Hammerfall, damn it! They don't call me the Hound because I look like a dog or something!_

Then he heard loud panting and frowned, pushing himself reluctantly from the wall. His eyes were set on the alley and he saw a shadow amble towards them. A rather large shadow and Gaspred the Hound narrowed his eyes to scrutinize, his hand slowly reaching for the longsword at his belt. The shadow then walked into the light and… Gaspred resisted the urge to laugh aloud. It was a Redguard who apparently really enjoyed sweets and an eating in general. A round man, with fingers like sausages, dressed in a purple shirt which was barely holding together on his shaking reserves of fat. Just to make himself look even funnier, the man with no sense of fashion decided to wear bright green pantaloons, the clashing colours literally hammering into Gaspred's eyes.

"Barun has come in all his rolling fury... to see what kind of evil is... playing out in this smelly, dark and... rather scary alley!" the man shouted between heavy breaths. "And Barun can't catch his breath. Give the loveable man, who loves his food and his belly, and the food in his belly, some time to catch his breath."

The Breton just raised his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth twitching. "You do know you are addressing young Lord Amitian Catrinius, son of Bright Lord Vasumus Catrinius, right? Show some respect, fat man."

The Redguard raised his eyebrows in return, his triple chin shaking as he opened his mouth to speak. "Barun is most honored to make such an acquaintance. He should most likely apologize to the young Lord, that Barun definitely should do." He then folded his hands on his belly, watching Gaspred and Amitius.

"Just get rid of him, Gaspred," the kid growled in annoyance when no apology came from the Redguard. "I have to practice."

"You heard the Lord," the Breton shrugged and pointed with his chin the way the man came. "Get lost, fattie."

"But Barun can't!" the man put his hands on his cheeks, horror written on his face. "Barun heard sounds of pain and now that he sees, he can't help himself but wonder why is the young Lord hurting the dog? Barun's eyes are wide in shock and filled with sadness, just like apples are full of sweet juice. Aren't dogs the best friends of a man? Barun has to ask."

"It's just a street mutt!" Amitius barked. "Who cares?! Gaspred, I told you to get rid of him! Now!"

Gaspred looked at the mutt who was trying to claw back to his feet, but his hind legs kept failing him. Too much shock magicks, paralyzed the muscles. _He won't run anywhere now._ The Breton shrugged and walked towards the fat Redguard. "Now you've made the young Lord angry. Don't make me force you to leave."

"Stupid dog," the kid behind him murmured and Gaspred felt another wave of shock magicks being cast behind him and another tormented yowl from the dog. But the Hound's eyes were on the Redguard whose face twisted into a grimace of disgust and anger. The Redguard rolled back his shoulders and stretched out his chest, which actually made him look comical rather than intimidating. Gaspred could even see the upper buttons of his shirt trembling in their struggle to hold the man within the confines of his shirt-

The upper button then shot forward and Gaspred heard a surprised gasp closely followed by a yell of pain. "My eye!" Amitius cried out. Gaspred turned around to see the kid holding a hand over his eye, the other one quickly filling with tears.

"Ooops," the Redguard peeped sheepishly.

 _You're so going to lose your job now, Gaspred. The fucking kid will spin some damn lie about how it's your fault he lost his eye or whatever! Gods damn it!_ "You're so dead!" he growled at the fat Redguard. He pulled out his sword in one fluid motion. He didn't need magic to get rid off such a fool, good old steel was more than enough. He brought the sword down on the fat idiot's neck, releasing all his anger and frustration in that single movement.

For a second it seemed as if the man had turned into a statue of stone and then the blade struck.

Gaspred released a yelp of pain and surprise. The blade shattered into pieces and his hands went numb from the impact. He blinked and there wasn't a statue or a Redguard, but one huge ogre that hit him with the back of its hand, sending him into the air.

The Breton hit the ground with a groan of pain. The side of his head felt as if someone was pounding an anvil there and he couldn't get rid off the ringing in his ear. He managed to look up and saw the fat Redguard standing in the alley, a sly smile on his round face. "What in Oblivion…?" the Hound gasped, shaking his head, but he could still only see the fat Redguard. _Illusion. He must be using Illusion magicks. Oblivion. Oblivion. I'll give you Oblivion!_

He reached through the limen to the other side, finding his favourite toy, and he pulled it back to himself, to Nirn. The air split in purple flames and then there was a Dark Seducer standing in the alley. She looked quite annoyed, but that wasn't a surprise. Gaspred most likely pulled her from a very enjoyable torture of some poor mad fool. _Kill him! Kill the Redguard!_ he ordered her in his mind and she strode towards the man.

He had full confidence in her abilities and he knew Illusion certainly wouldn't stop her. He underestimated the Redguard, but he had a job to do and it wasn't personally making sure the man died. It was to make sure the royal brat didn't get hurt. He grabbed the now hysterically weeping boy, threw him over his shoulder, and ran, ran away from a fat man. _I'll get you later, bastard!_ he promised himself. _Unless she gets you first._

3

Barun watched the Mazken stride towards him with a drawn dangerously looking axe made of black glass. He looked into her eyes and cocked his head. "Barun knows this beautiful creature, oh he certainly does. That frown, those hips and the way they swing, Barun can't help himself but grin at that sight. Barun still remembers you when you were young, pretty and dark Autkendo Jansa."

The Mazken stopped for a moment, her dark, pool-like eyes narrowing. "You," she murmured. She clenched her jaw, as she struggled against the summoning spell, against the command to kill him. He could see that very well. "I...can't…"

He narrowed his eyes. It was always sad to see Daedra being used by the inhabitants of Tamriel as tools, doing the dirty work for them. Daedra didn't like that. Actually, they hated it, because Daedra were beautiful and prideful creatures, Mazken especially, and it was just touching to see the captain of the Palace Guard struggle valiantly against the summoning sigil.

"Don't fret, my dear, Barun is here and he will help you, with a smile and wave of a hand," he said, making a gesture, "he shall free you and he shall bask in your beauty and unending gratitude."

She suddenly stopped, the sigil bending her will to the caster no longer existing. She released a sigh of relief and then quickly straightened. "We have heard rumors, of course, but I didn't expect-"

"Shh, shh," the Redguard put his fat finger on his lips, silencing her. "The walls have ears and the pavement has eyes, and they keep looking because He keeps looking. But Barun doesn't want to be found, because Barun is on a vacation, dear captain. So no one can know of poor hungry Barun, because it's not the time yet, dark creature of beauty. Be so kind and do Barun a favour: tell no one you have seen a tiny little Barun, will you? Barun pleads with puppy eyes, yes?"

The Mazken then disappeared the same way she appeared and Barun released his own sigh of relief. He then kneeled beside the dog, scratching him behind the ears and the mutt sniffed with uncertainty. Once it recognized his smell, it crawled closer to him, its head resting on his boot.

"It's alright, Barun says with a reassuring voice, it is very much alright now. Here, Barun will help you." He picked the dog up, slowly walking down the street even though he was already beginning to sweat with effort. "You deserve a big piece of a roasted boar, my friend, just as Barun deserves a big pint of Snakeblood Ale. Yes, roasted boar and ale. Barun is buying and he will buy you the best roasted boar you ever had. Now that Barun thinks about it, he might actually buy you a smaller piece because heroic actions like the rescue of dogs in distress make Barun very hungry."

4

"I'm telling you, father!" the kid screamed as if the world was about to end and it only made Gaspred's head pound louder. "There were ten men, they attacked us in the alley and-"

"Enough!" Vasumus Catrinius barked, making the boy immediately shut his mouth, averting his father's gaze. His eye was completely fine - thankfully - just little bit red. But it was just as Gaspred was expecting. The boy was spinning a lie and he blamed Gaspred for everything that had transpired. According to the boy Gaspred went down immediately and the boy had to fight off ten skilled mages who were there to kidnap him. "Go see your tutor now. You have to study," the Bright Lord continued and his son was about to say something, but when he looked at his father, he reconsidered. With a simple nod he left the room, closing the door behind him.

The room was pretty, with all that fancy stuff Gaspred kept seeing in Elinhir. It was Vasumus' office of sorts, with all the important things for office meetings. Like a table, chairs, lots of drawers, but also expensive carpets and paintings and even a chandolier made of crystal. Vasumus himself was an unassuming Imperial, with short hair that resembled straw. Not even close to his son's nearly golden locks. But his eyes were dark and calculating and that exactly captured Vasumus' personality. Calculating.

Precisely that was what the Imperial doing when he looked at Gaspred who returned the stare with narrowed eyes. After few seconds of silence, he sighed and opened his mouth. "Your son-"

"My son is an idiot," Vasumus interrupted, sitting down behind his table. "An idiot who likes to torture animals. Would you believe that? Fending off ten skilled mages," Vasumus shook his head in disbelief. "So what really happened?"

Gaspred bit his lip and grimaced. "One man," he said bitterly, not very fond of saying that out loud. It certainly wouldn't do his reputation any good if the word spread.

"One man?" the Birght Lord raised his eyebrows. "Would that happen to be a fat Redguard in a purple shirt and green pantaloons?"

"How-?"

Vasumus waved his hand. "You kept asking my guards about him. I think you're forgetting they answer to me first."

"I think you're forgetting who got you your title," Gaspred muttered with a frown.

"What is that supposed to mean?" the Bright Lord rose from his chair, leaning against the table, probably trying to intimidate Gaspred. But it wasn't working. Far from it.

"I'm not a fucking nanny, Vasumus!" the Hound growled, making his namesake proud. "Find some other idiot to watch over that brat, but I'm done with that. I want real work, not babysit your spoiled little terror."

"Just tell me what in the Oblivion happened, Gaspred!" the Bright Lord growled in response and the Breton narrowed in his chair, throwing up his arms.

"Fine, fine!" He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "We were in the Lower Terrace, in an empty dark alley. Your kid was frying this mutt. Some street stray. Then this fat Redguard showed up, spewing gibberish about dogs being the best friends of man and shit like that. Then…" he stopped himself, thinking about how that stupid button hitting the boy's eye. Should he really talk about that? Didn't seem really believable, because what were the chances? The Redguard certainly didn't use a spell for that, because Gaspred would feel the magicka at least.

"Well?" Vasumus urged him to continue.

"The Redguard demanded the kid stop hurting the dog and when he didn't, the fat guy went nuts. I drew my sword. And I hit him with it." Gaspred stopped for a moment, trying to recall that precise moment. "I swung at his neck, classic oblique strike aiming between the collarbone and spine. It hit him, but the blade shattered to pieces. For one second it seemed like the Redguard became a statue. And then an ogre showed up and tossed me across the alley."

"Statue? Ogre?" Vasumus blinked several times. "What in the blazes are you talking about?"

"It's strange, I know," Gaspred shook his head. "Must have been an illusion or something. But I know those and he's either so good that I didn't notice or it was something else. So yeah, I summoned that Mazken, grabbed the kid, and ran. And this is where it gets strange. I lost command over that Dark Seducer. She wasn't banished, she wasn't taken over either. It was like someone just...made the binding spell disappear and she was free. And then I felt her return to Oblivion, of her own volition."

Vasumus stared at him, those dark eyes calculating. "It sounds like powerful magic," the Bright Lord murmured. "You want real work, right? That Redguard has harmed my son, thus he has gone against the law. Find him, bring him to the dungeons."

The Hound narrowed his eyes and solemnly nodded.

 _I won't make the mistake of underestimating you again, fat ass._

5

Barun was picking off the roasted boar's bones, making sure they were completely clean of every drop of fat, tendon, and, most importantly, meat. It was so good he was almost of a mind to try chewing the bones, but he wasn't sure if his sweet-weakened teeth could handle that. So he was throwing all the bones to the dog under the table and he could hear the satisfying cracks of bones being grinded by sharp teeth. He was actually savouring the sounds, they were like a calming tide for him.

"Well, that's a whole second boar," Smiley, the innkeeper, smiled when he came to Barun's table. Smiley was a Redguard with a bald head and dark brown eyes that never stopped smiling - just as he. He seemed to be always grinning, showing everyone his perfect white teeth. Barun sort of envied him those. "Another two, Barun?"

"Two?" the fat Redguard raised his eyebrows in horror. "You must have lost your mind, my friend, Barun can't eat so many boars even though it seems impossible considering he just ate two boars. Barun will tell you what happens. You will bring Barun a big pint of Snakeblood Ale and one more roasted boar. Because Barun doesn't cram before sleep."

Smiley just laughed out loud and went towards the kitchen, shaking his head in disbelief. Barun looked under the table and the dog gazed up at him, watching him with his one good eye. The Redguard smiled and patted the furry head and the dog licked his fingers. "No, no, that's Barun's meat juice, boy! You have your bones, leave the rest to Barun. He's bigger, he needs more of it."

Smiley showed up with a big pint of ale and Barun quickly snatched it from the innkeeper's hands, swallowing the liquid while groaning with delight. There was nothing more refreshing in a hot day than Snakeblood Ale.

Snakeblood Ale. Brewed with barley grown just beyond the desert's reach, the ale would be fine on its own, but the unique ingredients really made it something special. In a number of areas, Snakeblood Ale was actually a misnomer - on the western side of the desert, real snake's blood was preferred, adding a rosy hue and a flavor similar to brandy, along with a cooling sensation purportedly coming from the alchemical properties of snake blood. On the eastern side, a splash of blood may be included, but the ingredient that took center stage was venom. A substantial amount was added and it cuts the natural sweetness with a note of sharpness and a peculiar, tingling numbness.

Barun felt something wet on his thigh and looked down to see the dog's sad eye pleading at him, his head resting on Barun's leg. "No, Barun says a resolute no. The ale is Barun's and sad puppy eyes don't work on Barun because-" The dog whined and the Redguard sighed. "Barun is such a weak-willed man." He poured little bit of the ale on the floor, his heart aching after seeing such a waste, but he just couldn't say no.

The door then opened with a loud bang and in walked several men in blue and violet cloaks. Barun sighed when he noticed who was leading them. The one called Hound - _Barun thinks it's such an ironic name, yes, that's what Barun thinks._ He also thought that he made a mistake back in that alley.

It wasn't a mistake to save the dog, absolutely not. What was a mistake was that he might have shown too much back there. _Barun should have changed his role right after that, disappear from sight, yes, yes, Barun was stupid and still is. Stupid and weak-willed, that's what Barun is._ _All he wanted was just a tiny piece of roasted boar, because Barun was hungry and thirsty. Oh, the stupidity of Barun!_ He was now absolutely sure he should have had changed his role and simply disappear.

Or he should have had killed the man and the boy.

"Someone seems to be hungry here," the Hound said with a chuckle and Barun wasn't sure if he was talking about him or the dog. It was difficult to say. The infamous nightblade was surrounded by a half a dozen of Elinhir's Lanterns - the so-called elite law enforcers. All mages and very skilled ones too.

He motioned towards the chair at the other side of the table. "Please, sit. Barun has just ordered his third roasted boar, so Barun can say with certainty he is hungry. But is the Hound hungry too? Barun could share a small piece - but only a small one."

The nightblade shook his head in disbelief. "I keep listening, but all I hear is bullshit." He took a seat, turning the chair around so that he could lean with his elbows against the chair's backrest. Barun had seen lot of people sitting like that before and it was saying a lot about those people, about their stance. The Hound was cautious. The backrest of the chair between him and Barun was a certain first line of defense. If Barun would throw anything at him or try to stab him with a fork the Hound would use the chair to block it. And then smash it over Barun's head. "Maybe all this is just some kind of elaborate play, making yourself sound like a complete idiot. Or maybe you really are an idiot. But you caught the attention of the Bright Lord with whatever that was what you did back in the alley." The Hound flashed a grin full of yellow teeth. "So you either come with us. Or we make you."

"Barun has caught the Bright Lord's attention? Barun is all blushing now, such praise. But Barun has just ordered a third roasted boar and he can't just leave it here-"

"The hard way it is," the nightblade shrugged.

Barun felt magic being cast from behind him and he realised the Lanterns must have came through the backdoor too. He quickly rolled from his chair, but as he was dodging the magic from behind, he was hit by a lighting from the front, the Hound being much faster than he expected. The lightning hit him mid-air precisely in the middle of his chest and he could feel the crackling magic surging through him. The air was filled with the smell of burning clothes and hair, but beside that, he didn't feel much pain, that magic mostly breaking against him.

And then the Lanterns released magic of all kinds, but they all intended to just harm him and not kill him. He was being hit by lightning, by weak frost spells, by draining spells and by paralyzation spells.

It was too much even for him, he could feel his mind slipping away as the pain was slowly getting to him.

He was on the floor and he could see the dog jump from under the table, his teeth burying into the Hound's calf. _No!_ he wanted to cry out, but he just couldn't.

The nightblade growled in pain and his sword went down, its tip burying in between the dog's scapulas, severing his spine. The dog released a terrible of sound of pain as he fell on the floor, his rear legs not responding. Barun was watching, looking into the dog's yellow eye as the animal began crawling towards the Redguard.

"Stupid dog!" the Hound growled, raising the sword again.

 _Stupid dog,_ Barun repeated in his mind. _Stupid loyal dog. It's in their nature._ He closed his eyes so that he didn't have to watch the end. He was hoping he would pass out soon, so that he wouldn't hear the sword fall.

And his wish was granted.

6

He had woken up in a dark cell lit by only the flames coming from the torches in the hall just outside his cell. The door was comprised of simple bars, but the whole cell was made of stone, three by three steps long and wide, and he could feel something in the stone. Enchantments maybe, dampening all magic around. But Barun wasn't a mage.

He had been there for days, it seemed. It was difficult to measure the time down there. It was a dark and damp place, with guards barely going there, rats very often shuffling under his feet, but what he hated the most about it was the food. It was much, much worse than any torture they could think of, because all he was getting was this...disgusting grey mash brought to him once a day along with a jug of water. _What Barun would do for a piece of roasted boar and pint of Snakeblood Ale? He would most definitely tear through the iron bars, shaking his plump fists in wrath of hunger and…_ He then shook his head. He would wait. A little bit longer.

They didn't even give him a proper bed, but a simple bedroll crawling with fleas and all other kinds of life. But that he could still reconcile with, but they didn't give him a chamberpot! No, he was just supposed to defecate in the corner and over the course of a few days, the smell was already overwhelming. Barun sighed and sat down in the opposite corner, leaning his head against the cold stone.

"Why the sad eyes, puppy?" a feminine voice sounded from the corner drowning in darkness and Barun frowned. "They've taken your bone or - shit! I've stepped into your shit!"

A woman came stumbling - or more like jumping on one leg - from the shadows of his cell, trying to get rid of the dung on her boot. She was clad in what seemed like archaic Mithril armor and he immediately noticed how tall she was. A tall Altmer with short blonde hair that had a slightly darker hue and eyes somewhere between green and golden. "This is just rude!" she kept mumbling as she began wiping the boot on the floor. "And it stinks. More than a stinky cheese!"

Barun rubbed his eyes, more annoyed than surprised that an Altmer woman appeared inside his cell out of nowhere. "Barun is deeply sorry for the inconvenience of a pile of heaping dung being in the corner-"

The Altmer's face wrinkled with horror at his words. "Did I just step on Malacath? Oh, I hope he's not angry. He's such a party crasher when he's angry. And who's Barun?" she suddenly smiled, leaning closer. "Am I speaking with your conscience?" she whispered and then quickly narrowed her slanted eyes. "No, wait. I got it. That's what you call that tiny spear which you polish so often."

Barun sighed. "Barun sort of misses the old days. Back then one could rely on Mazken not spilling everything-"

"Stop talking like that! Barun is driving me crazy! ME!" the Altmer raised her voice, a very strange cheerful panic resonating in that voice - as if panic could be cheerful. She then ran towards the bars of his cell and began hitting them in a frenzy, shaking them. "Guard! Guard! He is driving me crazy! I need help!"

"Shut your mouth, criminal scum!" a woman's voice came from the hallway and then a wooden club hit the bars. The guard came into the view and Barun could see it was the same Altmer woman, only wearing a guard's uniform. "Nobody breaks the law on my watch!"

The Altmer in Mithril armor giggled at that. "Hihihi. I love that line!" She then cocked her head, looking at the guard. "Isn't she a pretty one? And how do you like what I wear, eh?" she looked at Barun, her hands going over her body, stopping at her breasts. "I haven't worn this since I've grown manly parts." She then twitched as her fingers began making circling moves. "Oh, this is awkward. And pleasant. I'm touching myself tonight."

"You've violated the law!" the Altmer guard hit the bars with the club again.

"Ewww," Barun made a sound of disgust.

"What?" she looked at him confused. "Not everyone is fond of licking their own balls like you are."

Barun decided it was time to drop the act, because this was certainly getting on his nerves. "Why don't you go drive someone else crazy, eh? Like judges?"

The Altmer raised an eyebrow and then grinned. "Good idea. Let's ask the JUDGE!" she raised her voice full of theatrics, pointing to the opposite wall. Suddenly there was a third Altmer woman, wearing the white robe of an Imperial judge. "Your honor-" she bowed.

"Request denied!" the judge screamed. "Overruled! Denieddenieddenied!"

"I haven't asked my ques-"

"Guilty!" the judge kept screaming and pointing at Barun. "Guilty of sanity!"

He released a sigh of exasperation and shook his head. Who could keep the role in the face of such madness? Certainly not him. "Not for long if this keeps continuing. This cell is getting kind of crowded. Soon we'll be swimming in shit."

The guard and the judge disappeared, only the Altmer in Mithril armor remaining. She cheered up, patting Barun on his shoulder. "Yes! That's it, puppy. Like the old days. I so miss our conventions. No one's chewing my slippers these days - what a bore." She then looked at him suspiciously. "You aren't going to chew my slippers now, are you? I hate it when you do that."

"Sometimes I think about that time when you were all about order and stuff," Barun looked at the Altmer with a frown. "You were less annoying then. So why are you here? To drive me crazy?"

"Ah well, I was just nearby. Did you know they make a terrific roasted boar here?" the high elf knowingly grinned. "So I thought I'd drop by, to mock you a little, see if you want to play fetch. And to why are you sniffing here, of all places too. The curiosity is killing me! Well, not really." She then frowned and raised her eyebrows. "Oh. Did you get kicked out again? Oh, yes, you did! Hahaha! Sorry, can't help myself. Never liked you, you know? So fun to mock you."

"We had an argument," Barun replied, not really comfortable with talking about it.

"An argument? Is that the thing you wear under your clothes?"

"That's undergarment."

She wrinkled her nose and snorted. "I knew that. So what is argument then? Oh, oh, I know, I know. Is that the thing that happens in marriage when one cheats on the other and the other grabs a fork to stab the one and the one pulls the other's guts out and then they dance in happiness of undeath?"

Barun stared at the Altmer, not sure how he should respond to that. He then just shrugged, letting it slide. "Well…" he then grimaced. "He did try to kill me."

"Marriages," the Altmer woman nodded solemnly. "Bloody business that. So you are what? Running? Waiting for him to take you back? Oh, puppy." She then looked around. "But is a dark cell really the perfect place for that? Not much running can be done here. Why are you still here then? Change into a rat and slip between the cracks. Oh, or change into a bat - which is still a rat, but with wings! - and fly out. Wait, wait, don't do it yet. Got better idea." She leaned closer with a devilish grin. "How about a dragon? Change into a dragon! Please, please, pretty please! That could be so much fun! So why don't you come for a visit then? Cliff of Suicides is lovely this time of year."

"No, I won't change into dragon!" Barun growled, getting on his feet. "Plenty of those in Skyrim these days." He began pacing, the presence of the Altmer getting under his skin. "Still have some business here. I was slowly getting ready to leave, but then they made it personal! That's just what they do, don't they? So I can't leave until I solve that…" he looked in the Altmer's direction, but there wasn't anyone there anymore. "And now I'm talking to myself. Well done. Well done." _It's in the nature of dogs, you know? Be alone with their thoughts, be always loyal even if their master takes a stick to them._ But the Altmer woman wasn't a dog and not a master. She was mad.

How could one hope to react to such madness? Such unpredictability? All plans were falling apart when madness came into play, the voice of reason missing a tune and the walls of sanity slowly cracking. Not even millennia of experience could withstand the onslaught of insanity. But weren't they all little bit insane, each in their own way?

Barun shook his head. _Yes we are. But some have to be insane for all of us._

He heard footsteps in the hall. The boots of at least a dozen of people hitting the cold stone and he knew that his time in this dungeon was coming to its end.

7

They dragged the Redguard to the interrogation room, ripping the ridiculous choice of clothing from him and chained him to the ceiling by his hands. His feet were barely touching the floor, and as he was hanging on those two chains, the Redguard's head almost disappeared between the layers of fat.

Gaspred just shook his head disbelief. _This ball of fat got the jump on you? Difficult to believe._ The Hound grew up in Evermore, with the ever constant threat of Reachmen always hanging above the city, and Gaspred had even fought those barbarians. Multiple times. They were the scariest thing he had ever encountered so it wasn't a surprise that a fat Redguard wasn't a threat to him. At least he thought so at first.

"Who are you?" Bright Lord Vasumus asked with a commanding voice, the sound echoing through the room. It was big enough to hold Gaspred, Vasumus and half a dozen Lanterns - which seemed somewhat ridiculous considering they only had a fat Redguard chained there. But Gaspred urged everyone to be cautious. There was something strange about their prisoner.

Back in the inn, they had thrown at least a dozen spells with various effects at him, but the Redguard seemed to just... shrug them off. He wasn't immune to them, but very resistant. _He can't be that tough._ At first they had thought he was protected by powerful enchantments, but nothing of that sort, they didn't detect a single enchanted item on him.

The man was a mystery. And Gaspred hated mysteries.

"Who are you?" Vasumus repeated when the Redguard didn't answer. It almost seemed as if hunger tied his tongue or something, because he was silent this time too. The Bright Lord then nodded at one of the guards in the room who released a torrent of crackling lightnings from his hands. It hit the Redguard and danced over his skin, but he didn't release a peep, just clenched his jaw. "Who are you?!" Vasumus growled.

And the fat Redguard chuckled. "I am you," he said and in a blink of an eye the Redguard was gone, a perfect copy of Vasumus now hanging from the chains. Gaspred pushed himself from the wall, his hand going for his sword.

"Impossible," the Hound growled, looking at the perfect copy of Vasumus in the chains, even with the correct clothes and all accessories. "The chains should block all magic-"

"I am the Hound," the man continued and suddenly there was a copy of Gaspred in the chains. With clothes, scars, rings and even a sword at his side.

"What manner of magic is this?" the Bright Lord gasped in surprise and then he narrowed his calculating eyes. "I can't sense a single trace of magicka. How are you doing it? Where did you learn that?"

Gaspred watched the man wearing his face shake his head, a very familiar scowl appearing on his face - a scowl Gaspred saw every morning in the mirror. Watching himself like this was very much like looking into a mirror. "You people feel privileged. Powerful. In control," the man snorted. "Just because you know few parlor tricks you feel privileged to rule others. You think you own this world, but in reality you are nothing but ants fighting each other. You are an experiment, nothing more."

Vasumus motioned with his hand and his men released a concentrated burst of magic against the man and this time a growl of pain escaped his lips as the energy surged through his bones and flesh. "I have asked you a question."

The prisoner chuckled and shook his head. "I'll tell you what's going to happen now," he murmured and looked around. "In a few seconds, I will be free of these chains. And when I am, the killing will start."

Gaspred now pulled out his sword even though he didn't realise what he was doing. He just felt the pressure in the room rising and he knew there was something about to happen.

"And when you are all dying," the prisoner continued, "I want you to think about how you have brought this upon yourselves. What have you done to be punished like this? I want you to think about it as you bleed and the life slips from you. But there is no answer to that. You have just gotten yourself... the wrong end of the deal." He then looked directly at the Hound, narrowing his eyes. "You will die last. You will watch everything, and you will know you are powerless. You can growl, you can bite, just like the dog you killed. But it won't matter." The man's gaze then set on Vasumus. "And lastly, I want you specifically know that your son will suffer fate worse than death."

They were all charging their spells, because they felt the imminent danger radiating from their prisoner, like high tide hitting the beach. And then the chains were suddenly empty.

Gaspred licked his lips, feeling a salty taste of sweat on his upper lip. He couldn't just disappear. Where did he go? Then he noticed something on the floor, a tiny statue of stone, not bigger than his palm.

"Go to my son!" Vasumus ordered two men. "Now! You have to protect him!"

They ran towards the door while another guard walked towards the statue on the ground, watching it with a frown. He lifted it, holding it in his palm, and Gaspred finally saw what it was.

It was a small statue of a hound.

Then it suddenly blinked and the guard yelped in surprise. Surprise then turned into terror as the statue suddenly became a real hound of a size of a horse. It was black as night and its eyes were glowing red with maleficent wrath.

The guard's head disappeared in the hound's maw and then the jaws snapped followed by loud sounds of cracking bones as the beast crushed the man's ribcage. It swung with its head and tossed the corpse against the wall, like a discarded toy of flesh and bone.

Gaspred watched as the hound then leapt upon the two men reaching for the door, its paws landing on their backs, breaking their spines, the claws ripping their armor. Vasumus summoned a wall of fire between himself and the hound, but the beast just ran through the flames and with a careless swipe, opened the Bright Lord's belly, sending him against the wall with his guts falling out of him.

It didn't matter. Nothing they could do mattered. No spell or weapon would be able to stop that beast. Gaspred knew that as he sagged to the floor, his sword loudly ringing on the stone.

The beast tore through the guards as if they were nothing but dummies made of straw, their armor made of paper. The claws and the teeth were cutting through steel, flesh and bone with ease and Gaspred found himself sobbing in the face of such a massacre. The room was filled with smoke and smell of burning clothes, hair and flesh, as well as blood.

The last body was tossed in front of Gaspred and he looked into the face of a man, a face twisted in horror, forever frozen in death, because the man was missing everything from waist down.

Two pair of burning eyes appeared out of the smoke, followed by the body of the massive hound, its maw red and shreds of clothes clinging to its teeth. The beast slowly walked up to him and he could feel its hot breath smelling of death on his face.

It reached forward with its massive paw and pinned him down, its claws burying into the skin of his chest only a little, but he screamed in pain. "Please," he forced out of himself.

 _"How does it feel?"_ the beast's voice sounded in his head. _"How does it feel to be powerless? To be the inferior creature subjegated to the whims of a superior predator?"_

"Please! If I had any idea-"

 _"Then what?"_ the beast interrupted him, the pressure on his chest increasing. _"If you had known, would you try to bargain, maybe?"_ The maw then came closer, the burning red eyes looking straight into Gaspred's. _"Bargain is not MY domain."_

The Breton then screamed as he heard and felt his rib cage sagging under the weight, crushing his heart, his last thoughts a prayer for forgiveness, before the darkness swallowed him.

8

The whole City of Mages was on its feet that night. Bright Lord Catrinius murdered; his young son disappearing without a trace. And every dog in the street was howling.

People talked about it for weeks. They were saying the Bright Lord summoned a powerful Daedra and failed to contain it. They were saying his son made a deal with a Daedric Prince. They were also saying that the Bright Lord was killed by one of his rivals. People were saying lot of things.

But there was one truth in the rumors. One guard has survived the bloodbath. He was taken to the infirmary, but by the time by the time the Lanterns came to interrogate the injured guard…

He was already gone.

Continuing east.

Looking for more distractions.


	2. Chasing Sun

**The Penitent**

 **Alik'r Desert, 17th of First Seed, 206 4E**

 _The Orc in black fled across the desert, and the Knights followed…_

 _He's losing his mind,_ an Orsimer female thought and snorted after reading the piece of paper for the second time. She let it fall into the sand, beside her boots made of Duneripper leather. She was a tall one for a female, all covered in leather armor which was slowly cracking under the relentless onslaught of the desert sun. Her bald head was covered by a piece of her own clothing, wrapped around her head the way the nomadic Redguard did it. "He's losing his mind," Atuul gra-Garmalah said out loud.

"He's drinking his own piss. Not very surprising," murmured an Orsimer male next to her while he was picking up the paper from the sand. Atuul frowned and licked her tusks as her golden eyes gazed on the Orsimer. He was a head shorter than her but much bulkier, with the armor of moonstone and orichalcum only adding to it. She didn't understand why he was still wearing that armor, especially in the desert, because the gold metal was reflecting the sunlight so much she thought she could go blind any moment. The Orsimer looked as if he was radiating light, a round shield of wood and moonstone always attached to his arm and his sword in the sheath at his side. Most surprising was the gold-grey short cropped hair and mighty beard, because Orsimer rarely had hair of such light color. His silver eyes were watching her and she snorted again. _The Third of Vosh Rahk...radiating light._

"I wonder how long will it take until we will have to do that too."

She watched him stuff the paper into his sack and then shrug. "I hope it won't come down to that, High Priestess. We still have plenty of water." He scratched his beard and looked around with a frown. "Between me and Yaman we have enough for water at least for a...two weeks."

"Praise the Trinimac," she murmured her silent prayer to the skies and then noticed Third's amused look. "What?"

"I'm not sure Trinimac has anything to do with that, High Priestess," he chuckled.

"Do you doubt his guiding hand, Third?" she asked, baring her tusks at the male.

"I am the Third of Vosh Rahk, High Priestess," he said and shrugged. "I am his Doubt. I thought you got used to it after the years we spent on the road."

"Hardly," Atuul grimaced. Truth was that she was surprised when the Prelate and the First decided that the Third would follow her on her journey. So long ago… It was just three years back when she entered the Room of the Triune, after another night of being haunted by dreams and explained what she saw in them. Prelate, the First and the High Smith heard her out with stone faces and agreed that her dreams aren't something to be taken lightly. She was blessed by the Warrior himself they said.

They understood the importance of her task and she expected she would get a proper escort, at least dozen of Vosh Rahk, but instead of that she was assigned to the Third and that big oaf of an ogre.

She still quite didn't understood why they chose specifically the Third to accompany her. Out of the Honorbound Three he was more of a philosopher than priest, keeping an eye on the integral struggles of the Temple. He was Trinimac's Doubt, always making sure they don't cross the line of fanaticism, but sometimes it was too much to bear, especially for her. Daughter of the Shielded Blade, the Penitent. Almost heretical. She would understand if the First sent the Second, Trinimac's Wrath with her, but she had to take what she got.

After all, it was still better to talk with a heretic than a stupid oaf. _Speaking of which…_ "And where is that ogre anyway?" she asked and saw how Third frowned after her words. He didn't like it when she called him that, but never said anything. No, he just watched and mulled about it.

"I think he went to catch us some dinner. He'll catch up."

She looked at the sun, slowly descending down from its perch up at the sky. "You plan on continuing?"

He followed her gaze and smiled when she looked at him, blinking, waiting for the answer. "I don't see a reason why not. The heat is easing off, so we have at least two hours of sunlight and then another two in the night before it gets too cold. Plus, we haven't been so close in a very long time. And we're getting closer each day."

She shielded her eyes with her hand and looked into the distance. "He has nowhere to escape now. There's nothing but sand around here."

"And death," the Third added and began walking to the southwest again, with Atuul reluctantly following. "He could die. And after two years we shouldn't let this chance just go."

 _Two years,_ Atuul thought. For that long they completely lost him. He headed out of Skyrim to Elinhir and they believed he decided to head to Orsinium in Upper Craglorn. But he passed it and headed to Dragonstar instead and that's where they lost him. People saw him enter the city but nobody saw him leave. It was much later when they learned that he fooled them and never reached Dragonstar. It was just some other Orsimer dressed in his clothes. So they lost his track only to stumble on him two years later just a rock's throw away from Dragonstar in some shithole called Azra's Crossing. And the chase began anew.

And now they were in Alik'r Desert, following a lone Orsimer through dunes of sand and vultures just waiting for them to fall on the ground out of dehydration. They were constantly circling above their heads and it only irritated Atuul. But they were also circling above His head, shadowing his every step. It wasn't hard to track him, they just had to catch up. And each day they were getting closer. The Third said that they're a day behind, tops. _We'll get you very soon. For the glory of Trinimac!_

Her legs were weary from each day of walking, but she was used to that. She was an Orsimer. _And we can't be defeated. Only delayed._ It wasn't the walking, it was the heat, the sun. Back in Orsinium, it was never this hot, though in the summer the eastern end of Dragontail Mountains could get hot as down in the south.

Then they noticed a big figure in the distance, casually sitting on a rock that looked like it was about to crack from the heat, but the figure completely ignored the heat all around. As they were nearing, the figure became one behemoth of an Orsimer, dressed in simple breeches, leather straps across his chest holding shoulderpads of orichalcum in their place and with ornamented orichalcum bracers on his forearms. The dark-green metal contrasted to his bright skin, which was somewhere between green and light blue, almost like rotten olive. He noticed them too, brown hair tied into one thick braid hanging down his back, almost touching his bottom.

He was sitting with head being supported by his hand, as big as a shovel, looking like he was thinking, but Atuul very well knew it was just a pretence. _He's not capable of such a complicated task._ It was beyond her how they could allow him to join the Vorkhim Lorak. When he noticed them he stood up and as she and Third were getting closer the difference in size between them became much more prominent. She was tall and lean and the Third was shorter and bulkier, but in comparison to Yamanamub gro-Rugogamph they were tiny. He was almost a head taller than her and that was something to say, because she towered above most of the Orsimer, but he was also twice times bigger than her. He was a giant among Orsimer. _They say his father was an ogre, that his mother liked them big...whatever that means. And I'm inclined to agree. There is definitely some ogre blood in that mix._ On the boulder next to him was leaning a big mace of bone and orichalcum, almost as big as Atuul herself. _Maybe he's compensating something with that thing…_

"What's today's catch, Yaman?" asked the Third when they were close enough and Atuul saw how the oaf lifted his left hand with four lizards long as her forearm hanging. She heard the Third snort. "Well, better than skeevers. Definitely. And we have a food for at least three days."

"Two Reachmen with one mace," rumbled Yaman - yes, they were using a short, because his name was hard to pronounce even for other Orsimer. But Atuul was satisfied with Oaf or Ogre.

The big Orsimer had eyes so close together it almost looked like he had put his head between a hammer and anvil and tried to beat some sense into himself, and for Atuul, it made him look even more stupid. _Probably just as stupid as he really is._

They walked long after the sunlight disappeared behind the horizon, each tired step being carefully considered because the desert was full of danger. Holes in the ground hiding poisonous snakes or spiders for example. _I hate spiders…_ There was something about those small disgusting things that made her want to squeal - but she was an Orsimer, High Priestess even, she wasn't allowed to squeal. Instead of that everything that had more than four legs, be it six or eight, met a quick crunchy end under her heel.

 _Desert is so much alike to mountains. Everything tries to kill you. Be it the heat, the wildlife, even stupid plants are trying to kill you here. Almost everything in this wasteland is poisonous - the smaller the more painful the death._ Mountains weren't that much different but there was something about mountains that was more...pure. _No poison and such._ _Avalanches, cold, predators...everything there was as cruel as a desert but more up front, not hiding._ _Because Trinimac is testing us and he's not hiding that. Not like these desert gods of the Redguards._

They saw a beacon of light in the distance and Atuul noticed that it was much closer this night than before. _Our prey._ They traveled in silence and she didn't complain about that. There wasn't a need for words, not among Orsimer, especially on the road. Each word was wasting a breath that could be used for pumping another ounce of strength into their bodies, to take another step. And they were saving it.

The Third suddenly stopped and Atuul nearly bumped into him. She blinked few times, just realizing she was nearly sleep walking, and rubbed her eyes. "Something's wrong?" she asked.

He turned around to look at her and she noticed his tired face. _An aging Orsimer… If he was still following the Code of Malacath he would be already looking for his Good Death. What a barbaric practice,_ she thought. It was different in Orsinium, aging Orsimer weren't expected to go looking for their death - though many still did that, out of their own volition. No one was forcing them but nobody was stopping them either. _Some roots remain rooted deep in the ground…_

"No, High Priestess," he rasped, his throat sore from the thin rations of water, just as hers. "I think this is safe place for a camp. We have done enough walking today."

"Praise Trinimac," she murmured and nodded. "Yes, I agree." She then looked at Yaman and bared her tusks. "Prepare the camp, Ogre." He looked at her with his dumb look and then just rumbled.

"Hmpf," was the only thing that came out of his mouth and he began preparing their camp. It was Yaman who did most of the carrying of their supplies - bedrolls, tents, waterskins, dried dung for fire, few twigs of wood. Atuul had her own backpack, mostly with food, but otherwise light on her feet, supporting herself with her staff. The Third was carrying slightly more than her, but otherwise light too - if there would be a fight, he was the first one to meet it.

She looked around and sat down into the sand. Y _es, this is a good spot._ They stopped near a rock column sticking out of the sand, looking like a finger pointing out of the dune - or like something else - with a few boulders around almost like if thrown there by giants playing some stupid game with rocks.

The Oaf was building tents around a campfire made of stones, preparing and unrolling bedrolls. They had two tents - one for her, and one for the Third and Ogre. Her mind always wondered how the Ogre could even fit in there, but he always did. Both Orsimer males never slept in the tent at the same time, because one of them was holding a watch. She, as a High Priestess was excluded from such subsidiary tasks. She noticed that the Third pulled a rope from his sack and was laying it on the ground around their camp. Against snakes he said. _He said that the rope prevents the snakes from going any further and the fire should prevent spiders and scorpions from venturing too close too._

"I pray to you, Trinimac," she murmured into the night. "May my soul remain pure-"

"May my heart remain true," the Third joined, "and my arms remain strong."

"Give us the strength to catch our prey, Trinimac, for we are your chosen, devoted. We are penitent basking in your glory, praising your name. May we finally end this chase," she continued and then sighed. "Please, Warrior, may it finally end."

The Third took a seat next to her, watching Yaman starting a fire. She saw the black circles under his eyes, the cracking of bones as he began unbuckling his chestplate. "It's not up to him, High Priestess," he said after few seconds of silence. "We might have his blessing but ultimately it depends on us."

"You don't believe in his might?" she snapped at him, her gaze burying into his skull. But the Third didn't flinch, only sighed.

"I do believe in his might," he said and looked at the stars. "I feel his presence as we walk across the dunes, watching us. Not watching over us, just looking. Testing. I see him everytime I look at the Warrior up in the night sky. Watching. Measuring us."

She frowned. "You think he's not looking over his devoted?"

"Honor in Strength," he began reciting the Book of Truth. "Strength in Unity. Unity in Honor. These are his words, written down by the Penitent. Do you really think that our Lord would deem us worthy of Lightfall if he had to watch over us at every step we make? This is our test, this life. It is an Arena and we Orsimer do what we do best. We fight, only this time for our place in this world and in the next instead of just fighting for the sake of fighting. We fight to prove everyone they are wrong. How would it look if the Warrior had to come down from his throne in the Halls of Honor and fight the battle instead of us?"

"And does that bring you comfort, Third of Vosh Rahk?" she asked and he looked at her, his silver eyes staring at her with sadness and then looking down on his hands.

"No, High Priestess. It makes me try harder at everything I do," he murmured.

"Trinimac's teachings are meant to show us the way to better tomorrows. Not necessarily for us, but for our children. For our race. But what is faith without comfort? Do people want to believe that Vosh Rahk watch over them or would they prefer that Trinimac is watching over them instead?" she spoke and with every word the Third seemed to sag, almost like if he was being beaten by her words.

"We can't forget what we are," Yaman suddenly rumbled from the fireplace and she frowned. _How could you understand, Ogre?_

"And what are we?" she snapped at him. "Beasts in everyone's eyes. Fallen from grace, being tricked by Daedra. Boethiah, Malacath...it's those two that constantly test us, not Trinimac. Boethiah is testing us for the weakness of mind and Malacath for the weakness of body, not Trinimac. He watches over us, he wants us to succeed." She stood up and headed towards her tent. "And we will, we will end this chase very soon, prove both Evil Spirits that we do not bend. In Trinimac's name."

"As you say, High Priestess," she heard the Third murmur as she crawled into her tent. "Sleep well, Daughter of the Shielded Blade. May Trinimac watch over you."

 _He always is. In my dreams._

 _In the garden…_

 **Vorkhim Lorak**

 **Alik'r Desert, 20th of First Seed, 206 4E**

Another three days through the desert and their prey was still eluding them. Yaman could see how the High Priestess was getting more irritated by every day - like a small runt already picturing the day it gets its first weapon but someone always snatches it away when it tries to reach for it.

But he understood what made her anxious. For him and the Third it was duty, this chase, but for her it was holy crusade. She was plagued by dreams, he heard her each night, rolling over in her tent, muffled screams. _The High Priestess believes those dreams are sent to her by the Warrior. But are they?_ Yaman had to wonder. Each time they were getting closer to their prey the dreams stopped. The further they were the stronger the dreams were. _Are they really sent by the Warrior or is it just her mind?_

He suddenly snorted which prompted the High Priestess to look at him and scoff. He could almost feel what was going on in her head. _The Ogre probably saw a rock and thought it was his relative. Something like that, no doubt._ She wasn't hiding her opinion about him. He was just stupid Ogre to her, an Oaf. She clearly felt superior in every way in comparison to him. _Not very penitent…_ he thought. But that's what he always did. Just thinking, not talking.

He wasn't stupid, at least not from his point of view if that matters, he just wasn't a big fan of talking. _Words..._ Words were mostly pointless, just wasting of air. Actions spoke louder than words, that's what he learned when his mother took him to Everember Forge for the first time. There was so much noise, so much heat. Hammers constantly hitting red hot metal on anvils. No words. Only those spoken by the strength of the smiths shaping the metal into weapons and armor.

Vorkhim Lorak. Armored Bracer. One point of Trinimac's Triune, the pure representation of Orcish strength and endurance. He spent most of his life with smith-hammer in his hand, under the constant heat of Everember Forge. He wasn't stupid. He just didn't need to explain himself.

He saw how both the Third and High Priestess were slowing down each day, their bodies becoming weary of the long journey across the hot wasteland, but truth to be told, he didn't mind. This land of Redguards was somewhat close to his heart, calling to him. He felt like if he heard the Warrior in each breeze across the dunes, whispering to him. The heat...it wasn't that different from the forge. It was a harsh but beautiful land.

They got to the top of the dune and Yaman offered his hand to the High Priestess, to help her to the top. She took it, climbed up and continued ignoring him, almost like if she climbed to the top by herself. But Yaman got used to it. He looked to the distance and noticed something in there. For a moment he thought it was one of the desert's illusions, playing tricks on his eyes, but his companions saw it too.

Three figures, barely clothed, hiding in the shade of the rocks, hiding from the sun. And they noticed them too, he saw them getting up on their feet, steel of their weapons reflecting the sunrays. He looked at the Third and shielded his eyes. _Not really difficult to spot us with the Vosh Rahk's armor shining like second sun…_

"Bandits?" asked the High Priestess and Yaman saw how the Third was thinking about it. Very reserved, hesitant to jump to conclusions. _So rare among our people…_ To Yaman those three figures looked like Redguards, but it was hard to determine if they were bandits. It was quite possible they were on the other end, just merchants being ambushed by bandits. He grumbled and picked his way down the dune, towards the figures.

He heard a chuckle of the Third behind him. "Yaman is right. We won't know until we meet them."

"What a stupid idea," murmured the High Priestess. "We should avoid them."

"Maybe," Yaman heard the screeching of metal as the Third shrugged. "But He passed through here. Maybe they ran into Him. We could learn more if we talk with them."

 _Good point,_ Yaman thought as he was nearing the Redguards. _He could have let them here, for us to find them._ _But what will be the outcome?_

Three men of dark skin remained in the shadow of the rocks above them, with light behind their back, shining into Yaman's eyes, but he pressed forward. When he was nearly thirty steps from them he put all the supplies he was carrying on the ground, with all their water. He took only one waterskin with him and he noticed how the Third cocked his eyebrows at that, but then he mumbled something into his beard and nodded in approval.

Yaman's nostrils picked up their scent as he was getting closer. _Sweat, dried blood, fear. Yes, even fear._ Orcs' noses could pick up such scents from people. He stopped ten steps away from them and carefully measured them.

They were all lean but muscled, almost as if they were shaped by the desert itself. Two of them wielded shamshirs, thin curved swords meant for attacks from horse's saddle and the third was wielding a heavy scimitar. Their skin was brown with slightly red hue, burned from the sun, but their faces were gaunt with sunken cheeks and black circles under their eyes. _Dehydration, frailty. They haven't had water in days._

"He said you would come," said one of the Redguards, the one with the scimitar, taking a step forward. "That you would have plenty of water."

"He?" asked High Priestess, anxious, taking a step forward, but the Third raised his arm with shield strapped on it and stopped her. She threw him a look and he shook his head.

"Yes," the Redguard replied and licked his lips. "The Orc in black."

Yaman exchanged looks with the Third and nodded. The bigger Orc raised the water skin which had enough water for three people for at least few days if they would be thrifty.

"That waterskin is yours if you tell us everything," the Third said. "Every detail."

The Redguards looked at each other and silently murmured something between themselves. Then the one with scimitar turned back to the Orcs and smirked. "What is stopping us from taking the rest, Orc?"

Again that screeching sound as the Third shrugged. "We are. We need it more than you."

The Redguard grinned and nodded. "That's fair. Alright, we have a deal."

"Start talking then," the High Priestess barked and Yaman gritted his teeth. _So smooth…_

"It would be easier if I could wash the dust from throat with little bit of water," the man licked his lips and Yaman looked at the Third who frowned, his eyes measuring the Redguard, calculating.

"Don't turn away from those in need," the Vosh Rahk murmured and nodded to Yaman.

The bigger Orc shrugged and looked at the Redguard. "Catch," he rumbled and threw the waterskin their way. The leader dropped his scimitar and easily caught the waterskin, hastily cracking the cork and took a proper sip into his mouth, then handing it to his comrades. He held the water in his mouth, swallowing small doses. Drinking water too quickly can do more harm than good in the desert. It was clear these men were the children of the mighty Alik'r.

"Well?" the Third insisted and man licked his lips in delight and then sighed. He measured the waterskin, how much water was left in it and nodded in satisfaction.

"We stumbled on him not far from here," he said and pointed to south-east. "Barely walking, dehydrated, clothes torn. He was delirious when we found him, mistaking us for one of Alik'r's illusions. Not many travelers this far south and he stumbled into our people's territory. All we wanted was a toll and we would let him go on his way. He had no water on him, but that wasn't our problem. He had plenty of other valuable things. That staff looked enchanted and plenty of knives too." He licked his lips again, eyeing the supplies on the ground behind the Orcs and shook his head. "We had no idea he was one of them. Dancers with the shadows," the Redguard spat on the ground. "His shadow twitched and dark magicks extended towards us, draining us of our strength, our vitality. We fell from our camels and he took all our water, our clothes and the camels and fled to south-west. But he left us our weapons, saying that you would come, with plenty of water."

 _Shadowcasters,_ Yaman growled in his mind and exchanged disturbing looks with the Third. _Shadowmages. Fools dabbling in dark magicks that always twist on them. Blight of the Hammerfell-Skyrim-High Rock borders, having as bad reputation as necromancers. He learned new tricks…_

"That's all?" the Vosh Rahk asked. "Did he say where is heading or anything like that?"

The Redguad shook his head. "Nothing like that. He didn't talk much. Except swearing. He was swearing a lot."

 _Sounds like Him…_

The Third nodded. "Thank you, Redguard. I wish you safe travel."

Yaman watched the Redguards lay the waterskin on the ground and frowned. He saw them eyeing their supplies.

"We could take you to our people," the Redguard said. "Just few days away from here, with that water you have it shouldn't be a problem."

The Third narrowed his eyes and Yaman saw his hand moving to the hilt of his sword at his side. "We thank you for the offer, but our path takes us in a different direction."

"Shame," the Redguard said and picked up his scimitar. "We need that water."

"We need it more," Yaman growled and he saw how the Redguards hesitated when he reached for his mace.

"Then there is no other option," the Redguard murmured.

"Sadly not," the Third replied and pulled out his sword. "May Trinimac judge you fairly."

"May Tu'whacca have mercy on your souls," the Redguard replied and then his companions pulled out knives from behind their back.

"Stand back, High Priestess!" the Third shouted and then the knives were thrown their way. No, not their way. Yaman's way. _Always the first target…_ He managed to deflect one knife with his mace but the other ended up in his right arm right above his elbow and the pain made him drop his mace. Hot blood smeared his forearm and he looked at it, with surprise and astonishment and when he raised his eyes he saw two Redguards with shamshirs.

The first one that got to him swung his sword at his bare torso, but Yaman surprised him - as many other opponents before him. People always had hard times to expect a big lumbering creatures to be fast, but some were.

He stepped into the swing, using his long arms to his advantage, his left hand blocking the Redguard's swordarm at wrist and then he swung his fist. But the Redguard was fast too, he ducked under it and his shamshir then left a deep wound on Yaman's thigh. He roared in pain and before the Redguard could get out of his reach he grabbed him by his shoulder and spinned.

He threw him right into the path of the next Redguard who dodged to a side, but that one second made him lose his balance and Yaman with rage in his eyes reached him before he could raise his weapon. Yaman's fist hit him right between the eyes and the big Orc could hear the nose break. The Redguard's eyes rolled in dizziness and Yaman's left fist sent him to the ground in a spray of blood and teeth.

The other Redguard was getting back on his feet and Yaman growled. He quickly hobbled towards him and stomped on his arm. The bone broke like a dry twig and the Redguard screamed in pain, suddenly stopped by Yaman's boot hitting his temple.

Yaman looked at the wound on his leg, on the blood pouring down his thigh and sat down, the leg no longer capable of carrying him as the rush expired. He saw the Redguard with the scimitar on his knees, vainly trying to stop his intestines from spilling out of his belly. There was a shock written all over his face, right along with pain and disbelief.

"How could this happen to me?" he heard people asking often, right after their body was violated by cold steel. _The strange sensation of steel puncturing skin, flesh and bone which threw people into shock. The astonishment, the realization of how vulnerable the body is. So fragile... Mortal._

The Third was standing over the Redguard who raised his eyes to the Orc in gold armor, his eyes clearly asking "why?" but there was no clear answer to that. Not when violence and primal instincts took over and he looked at the Third with the High Priestess standing closely behind him. There was hesitation and sadness in the Third's eyes, reluctance. He saw the Redguard was in pain, dying, but he didn't want to cut him down. Yaman saw that and he understood.

Easing one way's off the world is an honorable notion, but...more often than not it felt more like execution. Murder of someone who can't defend himself. But the man could suffer for hours until his soul passed to Far Shores or whatever afterlife Redguards believed in.

The Third sighed and raised his blade. "The righteous stand before the darkness and the Warrior shall guide their hand," he murmured and then swung his sword, opening the Redguard's throat and stepping to the side to avoid the geyser of blood spraying from the opened artery.

Yaman heard rumors about the Third, about his Gauntlet. They said that he might actually be even better than the First, who was the mortal weapon of the Warrior, his first blade. They could have been just rumors...or not. _  
_

The Thirds bloodshot silver eyes gazed towards Yaman sitting on the ground next to the unconscious Redguards and frowned when he saw knife protruding from Yaman's arm and blood pouring from his thigh. "They're alive?" he asked and Yaman nodded. The Third lowered his head in respect and turned to High Priestess. "Would you be so kind and pray to Trinimac for some healing? For Yaman."

She bared her tusks at him and looked at Yaman with disgust. "Why is that everytime something like this happens he's injured?" She walked towards Yaman and sneered. "You're too dumb to dodge the blades?" She pointed at one of the shamshirs lying on the ground. "Those things hurt. Cut. Cut is bad." She pulled the knife out of his arm without any warning and he had to suppress a painful cry.

Instead he just nodded when she crouched in front him and her hands began to glow with golden light, easing his pain. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the light of Trinimac pouring into his body, basking him in His comforting warmth.

He heard shuffling of a body being dragged over the sand and opened his eyes to see the Third dragging the still breathing Redguards to the shade under the rocks. He checked their injuries and looked at the broken forearm of one of the Redguards. He then went back to Yaman, took the bloodied knife from the ground and went looking for the other one. When he had both of them he started making a splint for the Redguard's arm.

"They are going to die anyway. Why bother?" the High Priestess barked and the Third looked at her.

"Because this is an honorable thing to do. I'm giving them a chance, just like Trinimac is always giving a chance to us."

Yaman just shook his head. _She won't understand._ The reason why Yaman got hurt was because he was trying not to kill them. Because everyone deserved a chance, just as the Third said.

The Priestess shook her head in disbelief and continued healing Yaman's injuries.

"Water that was for three men is now for two. Their odds at survival increased," the Third murmured and kneeled beside Yaman, looking to the south-west, the direction their prey escaped. "He has camels now and plenty of water. He will do anything to stop us from catching up with him."

"No one can outrun fate," the High Priestess whispered, but they both heard her loud and clear.

"Where do you think He's heading?" the Vosh Rahk wondered. "Sunkeep? Chasetown? They're hardly worth mentioning, no port there. Dragon Grove? He would have to cross the mountains. The only reasonable choice is Hegathe."

The High Priestess paused and raised her eyebrows in surprise. "But that's directly across the desert, all the way down to the south."

"It's the only port. If He gets there before us he could get on a ship and we'll lose our only chance how to track him."

 _Crossing the desert. He's hell bent on shaking us off or dying in the process._

 _He's scared. But so are we._

 **Vosh Rahk**

 **Alik'r Desert, 29th of First Seed, 206 4E**

They were walking, dragging their feet through the sand, their determination urging them to keep moving. To stop would mean to die. The Third felt his bones creak with every move, the weight of his armor pulling him down, almost like if he was bearing the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. His mouth was dry and his tongue had turned into a piece of dried meat glued to his palate.

They were struggling for the last two days. They had only one full waterskin left and the Third reasoned they will need it later so since the morning all three Orcs had barely a few drops of water to get them through another day under the fiery ball of Magnus.

The Third stumbled and almost fell right on his face, but he managed to regain balance and straightened again. He noticed how Yaman and High Pristess looked at him, doubt in their eyes and he felt his chin raising up and forward in challenge. They averted their gazes and kept walking. Yes, they were all struggling.

 _Struggle…_ the Third thought, his thoughts slow and lazy as a snake shedding his skin on hot rock. _Everything is a struggle. Was that your intention, Warrior-God? To have every inch of our road test us?_ He shook his head, almost like if he was answering to himself instead of the god. _Whole world is a struggle. Just look around. You might not want to admit it, but whole world is at conflict. Scorpion trying to kill the desert lizard, spider laying his traps for oblivious flies, Elves waging war against humans over their beliefs, and even the light of the day fights the darkness of the night._ He looked up, directly into the sun without shielding his eyes, feeling the heat on his grizzled face and when he looked down under his feet he saw bright red dots in front of his eyes. _For every two forces fighting there is always one watching. Being the witness of the struggle._ The Third then sighed, trying to get all the world's weight out of him with one mighty gust of air released from his lungs. But it didn't work. _It's always the bystanders who get hurt. Maimed..._

 _The perfect balance is not made out of two but out of three points. There always have to be three._ He looked at his companions and frowned. _Who will win and who lose? Who will be maimed while the serpent on our chests wanders on?_

Each of them represented something, in this long chase. _But what? I think none of us really know._ They all were coming from somewhere, heading somewhere else. Each desiring a different thing. To the Third it was important where they were coming from, not their final destination. That's why he picked up every piece of paper left behind by Him. The High Priestess just discarded it, treating it like a trash, the mumblings of a lunatic. But the Third always picked them up, treasured them until he had time to properly read them. Study them. Study Him.

Each of the letters was a window into His soul, bringing the Third closer to comprehension of their prey. _Trinimac..._ he pleaded humbly, _I am your Doubt. But why do I doubt High Priestess' goal? Is it another test? She makes it sound clear as day but nothing here is obvious. Who am I, Warrior? Am I your Blade of Courage or that kid born to refugees looking for sanctuary?_

He couldn't help himself but remember that life on the run, being chased by Bretons and Redguards like dogs when everything they did was...existing. They were just passing through Bangkorai, looking for a new home, when the Third was just ten winters old. Baron of Evermore...was a cruel man. He chased Orcs with hounds and his men, turning murder into sport.

 _Do you remember?_ he asked himself. _Back when you still had a name. And parents. They chased you down to the lower Bangkorai, to the edges of desert very similar to this one and your parents decided to meet a Good Death. So you could live. Do you remember?_

He shook his head. _No, I don't want to remember. I have a new family now. New purpose, new cause._

 _But is it just?_

He wanted it to be just. But was that enough? We are the vanguard of the Warrior, whether we want it or not. We _are the bringers of change, the breakers of chains that are tying our race to the ground, to dust-_

He blinked several times and then shook his head. _Your mind is wandering off._

They crossed another dune - just one another dune after hundreds of others - expecting to see only more sand, leagues of sand before them until they could catch their prey. And they saw that, yes. But there...in the distance… A black spot. There on that rock. _Can it be?_

It was a rock shaped by the winds of the desert into a column, most likely tall as four Orcs. How long did it take the desert to shape the rock that way? Millenia most likely. And on top of that column was a black spot, sitting under something that looked like a makeshift tent. The Third looked at his companions and saw their eyes locked on the same place.

"We have him!" High Priestess gasped and quickened her pace, almost running.

The Third cursed under his breath and ran after her. The ringing of his armor made her turn around and he grasped her arm, stopping her in her tracks. She looked at the hand holding her with fury and then the fury redirected on him. But before she could speak the Third growled: "Do we? He could see us long before we could see him. And yet he stayed. He's not running, he's waiting for us."

She brushed the hand off and bared her tusks at him. "Or he is done for and can't run anymore."

"He had three camels," the Third retorted. "How far would he get with them? Think about it. How long would he have to wait until we would catch up with him? Days. But why? It's not like he couldn't run anymore. He chose to stop running. Doesn't that scare you?"

"Maybe Trinimac finally intervened," she murmured. "But does it matter? Shall we just stand here and look at him then?"

The Third frowned. Because of both sentences High Priestess said. He sincerely doubted Trinimac intervened, took control. It didn't work that way. _Not anymore._ His eyes gazed back to the column and the black dot on top of it. _She is actually right. We can't just wait until he comes to us. We have to come to him._ All this turned the feeling of finally catching their prey into the flavour of ashes in his mouth. _We didn't catch him. He chose to wait, he let us. But why?_

"It's a trap," Yaman rumbled and the Third looked at him, the way he held his mace, the way he tensed his muscles. _You feel it too, friend. Good, at least some of us are not blinded by the promise of victory. The chase finally coming to an end...it is tempting, but it's not over yet._

"Of course it's a trap," the High Priestess snorted and the Third looked at her. "What? You thought I don't know that? It's obvious. But we have no other choice than to walk right into it. We can't sit here until we die. Or until he dies."

The Vosh Rahk sighed and nodded. "My apologies, High Pristess. You are right. We have to go to him. But let's be careful."

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't doubt me again, Vosh Rahk," she hissed and began walking towards the column. The Third and Yaman followed in her steps. The Third's eyes were set on the column, on the make-shift tent at the top… _Why make a tent at the top? Why not under the rock, in its shade?_ Maybe He just wanted to have the advantage of higher ground. The way the Third was looking at it they were going to have lot of trouble getting Him down from there. If they try to climb up they'll make themselves vulnerable, unprotected and he could easily knock them down. They lacked ranged weapons so they couldn't even threaten him. And he could hurl his magic down on them.

The Third narrowed his eyes as they were getting closer. _If he's actually alive…_ The figure in black was just sitting there, unmoving, and to the Third it almost seemed like if He was dead. _Almost. Not going to fall for that trick again…_

As they were drawing closer the Vosh Rahk noticed a carcass half-buried in the sand, it's white bones bleached by the desert's wind, rotting meat still clinging to them. _The last camel. He ate everything he could. I can even see the notches of the knife on the bones._ He looked up again, now merely twenty steps from the column and the figure still wasn't moving. The Third's eyes were darting from one side to another, checking their surroundings, the ground under their feet, looking for any sign of the trap. But there was nothing.

And then the figure moved and the Third unwittingly raised his shield, expecting a barrage of spells...but nothing. The figure just stood up.

The sun was slowly setting down behind the column and the Third was finally able to see the details on their prey. The ragged black clothes mixed with Redguards' white and red, covering every inch of his body except face. It was giving him a look of a ragman and while it would let him pass as a beggar in any of Tamriel's cities, here in the desert, it made him look even more ominous. The red eyes were bright and studying as always, the black tattoo of an exile on his face bleached by the sunburns, his long beard oily and disheveled, his bald head glistening in the sun, and he had his usual smirk on his face.

"The Orc in black fled across the desert," their prey shouted cheerfully, "and the Knights followed. And now they've finally caught up. Took ya long enough." There was a chuckle and the Third exchanged looks with Yaman. _Dehydration? Desert madness?_ "What? No bowin' this time?"

"We're long past bowing, Rakash," the Third replied with his eyes scanning the surroundings. Something was irritating his nerves and it wasn't the Orc on the rock. There was something else, something that made his hair on his neck stand. Even High Priestess was strangely quiet, which made the Third even more nervous.

"Ah, yes. The Steed," Rakash laughed, his voice strangely resonating which made the Third raise his gaze to him again. His red eyes were uncharacteristically bright, almost as if burning with fever, with something mad dancing in them like a shadow cast by a torch. "The one carryin' Warrior on its back, the mighty charger who trusts its rider yet relies on its own experience. Warrior shall ride ya into the final battle, but is he really the Warrior? Would ya bet yer life on that? Maybe he's not, maybe he's just draggin' ya around like a Shadow." Another chuckle and then his gaze fell on Yaman. "Ah, Atronach. Will ya take the blow intended for the Mage, gettin' maimed instead of him, when the time comes, dear Golem?"

"That's enough," growled High Priestess. "Come down, you piece of shit!" The Third shot her a look, not really expecting such portrayal of disrespect from her, especially to Him.

"Ha! Ya want the secret, right? Have ya not learned anythin', Lover? Is he not whisperin' to ya in the night, the tender words? I see yer eyes in Garden, but ya can't really see or hear, don't ya? How frustratin' that has to be. I thought that by now he would tell ya. If ya want the secret ya have to seize the Tower!" Another laugh. "Get it? The Tower," he showed on the rock he was standing. "So come on, climb the Tower like the Thief!"

"I'm not climbing anywhere!" she yelled at him and the Third saw Rakash's eyes widen. The air seemed to shimmer for a second and suddenly the Third felt a rumbling under his feet, feeling the sand shift.

"I'm sorry," the Orc in black said and shrugged. "But ya probably guessed it's a trap."

The air shimmered and the Third finally saw. The carcass of the camel...those weren't notches from a knife. Those were marks from big teeth. _Illusion!_ The ground shook and he looked at the sand shifting under his feet. And then he understood. "Dunerippers!" he shouted and it was then the first fin ripped the dune several steps away from him. "Climb, High Priestess!" he yelled and to his surprise she obeyed. _Why are you still standing, fool? Move!_ He jumped to the side as the trembling got stronger and the big maws of a sand-crocodile emerged from the ground, snapping at the place where he was standing seconds ago.

He had no idea how his sword got from its sheath and into his hand but it was there, ready and thirsty, as always. He swung the sword faster even than his own eyes could follow the blade's trajectory and he only saw how the blood sprayed from the Duneripper's upper jaw, followed by several teeth and he heard the painful hiss of the creature. It was turning to him, its eyes bloodshot with frenzy and it opened its maw again, now half of its body out of the sand and the Third buried his sword into its upper roof of the mouth, going right into its brain.

It thrashed and ripped the sword from his hand, its head swinging from one side to the other and the Third took a step back. He saw a Duneripper emerging from the sand and charging Yaman who swung his mace in vertical swing, bringing it down right on its head with his full strength, crashing the scales, bone and brain into bloody red-white paste.

Another fin appeared from the sand, heading towards the Third and he frowned. _What are you going to do without your sword now?_ He was standing with his back against the rock column, his shield in front of himself. He reached behind his back to pull out a long knife, a last resort, because he doubted it would have any effect against the creature. _Don't give up now, the Warrior is looking. Don't disappoint him._ He took a second to look at the thrashing Duneripper, at its body structure.

Short stumpy legs, a long flat tail, a massive maw almost shaped like a beak, meant to rip the sand - Guess that's where the name came from. The legs were weak spots, not covered by the plates of scales, but there were also weak points between the scales that could be exploited.

The duneripper heading his way literally jumped out of the sand and the Third dodged to the side, the maw snapping at his head and then hitting the rock column. The Duneripper let out strange whining noise and shook its head, but the Third didn't wait for it to regain its balance. He dropped the shield and ran to its side, cutting its rear leg under the knee and then jumped on the scaled ridge, burying the knife pommel deep between the scales behind the duneripper's neck. It hissed in pain and the Third jumped off its back, when it started to shake, running towards the now dead Duneripper with sword in its maw. He ripped it out and turned only to see several other fins ripping the sand.

"Yaman!" he shouted. "It's a nest! Climb!" He saw the big Orc hit another Duneripper with his massive mace in the middle of jump and flinched when he heard the mighty crack of scales and ribs. The Third quickly sheated his sword and hung the shield on his back and then he began climbing up the column with Yaman climbing right next to him. He heard a loud snap as another Duneripper tried to bite his leg off, missing only by inches, its maws clapping on empty air. There was screeching of claws as the duneripper tried to climb after him but those creatures weren't given that ability. _Luckily._

The armor was weighing him down, each inch of the ascent an endless agony and it was only his sheer will that propelled him to climb. His muscles began to shake as he was closing the top and then he realized he couldn't move anymore, spasms taking over his muscles. His eyes were fixed on his right hand which began slipping on the rock… and eventually letting go. A big hand reached down and stopped his fall with a loud grumble. He looked up and he had to admit he never was so happy to see Yaman's ugly face. The big Orc pulled him up with loud puffing and then both of them just lay there, breathing.

"Ah, well," the Third heard Rakash's voice. "Can't blame me for trying, can ya? It was quite clever, ya gotta admit that."

There was a sound of hard slap and body falling on the ground. Loud spit and chuckle. The Third raised his head to see The High Priestess standing above the Orc, her hand opened and slowly turning red, just as Rakash's face. "Seriously?" the Orc in black laughed. "A slap? I tried to kill ya and all ya do is slap me? Come on. That Illusion was really good. Removin' ya from Dunerippers' perception and them from yers isn't some parlor trick. I'm damn good, am I?"

She growled and grabbed him by his tunic, lifted him on his feet and pushed him to the edge of the rock. His heels were barely touching the stone, only thing keeping him from the falling was the hand of the angry High Priestess. _And yet he is still smirking._ "Go on, do it," Rakash chuckled.

"High Priestess," the Third managed to force words out of his sore throat and began crawling back on his feet. She looked at him with anger and then back at the Orc in black.

"I know," she growled. "It's just...of all possible Orcs…" With yet another growl she threw Rakash back on the rock. He landed on his belly and turned on his back with a snort.

"Yeah, of all possible Orcs," he murmured. "Ironic, isn't it? But I'm not comin' with ya."

"You don't have a choice in this matter," the Third rasped when he got to his feet and looked down at the swarming nest of Dunerippers. Their fins were cutting the sand around the rock, clearly frustrated their prey escaped. _We can't get past them, we have to kill them all. Weak, thirsty…_

"Yeah, keep sayin' that to yerself," Rakash retorted and the Third shot him a look. Their prey was weather-beaten, sinewy and his green skin had a red tint from the sun burn. The Third knew that the Orc in black was at the end of his strength yet he still kept talking. _Never shuts up. Is there something in this world that would make him shut up?_

It was strange, but the Third couldn't help himself but sympathize with their prey. He read his journals, he knew what led him here, what shaped him. _I'm not sure I would know what to do if I was in his position._ Well, he knew what would he do, but he was an Orc of faith. He would do it gladly, but he understood not everyone was the same. _Why him? So many would take his place without hesitation, and yet it's him…_

"Don't ya happen to have some water?" Rakash cut the silence again. "I'm literally dyin' here."

The Vosh Rahk looked at the supplies down under the rock, among the swarming Dunerippers and sighed. They dropped them in the first moments of trouble. There was a spare waterskin there, so right now, they had only one half-empty waterskin at the Third's belt with the rest being down there _. The odds are not looking great..._ He untied the waterskin and handed it over to the Orc in black. "Here you go, Rakash."

The smaller Orc spat and grimaced. "Stop calling me that. I'm no possession." He took the waterskin and took a big swig.

"That's not what it means-" High Priestess began explaining but Rakash didn't let her. It was his thing, interrupting people, always having the last word.

"I know very well what it means!" he growled. "It means 'prophet' but there is an adjective tied to that. Possession or...possessed." The smirked when he saw High Priestess's surprised look. "What? Didn't expect I'd know yer language? Please. Even ya don't know it. Ya just dig up some old Orcish words and use them everywhere ya can. Ya even threw in words used by Iron Orcs. Hypocrites."

"Would you prefer we call you 'Vessel' then?" she sneered and the Third shot her a look. She was pushing the line. They should have shown the Orc some respect, not treat him as a toy that can be used and then thrown away.

Rakash flinched like if he got slapped and something snapped behind his eyes. "I'm not comin' with ya."

"How can you be so selfish?" High Priestess hissed. "Almost every Orc would trade places with you, for the chance to bring change to this world. To lift our race from the dust. How can you prefer your miserable life?"

"Because it's my miserable life," he snapped back at her, his eyes narrowed and brows frowned. "It's my choice, my free will. And you want to take that away from me!"

High Priestess was opening her mouth but the Third decided it's time he put his weight into the argument. "I know it's hard to accept or understand," he started and frowned on High Priestess, " and I'm still not sure I understand it, but it's not like you cease to exist-"

"Yeah, good try. Being a prisoner in my own body certainly sounds like an awesome way to spend eternity," Rakash snorted and his gaze fell back on the High Priestess. "Why don't ya convince him ya are a much better option, huh? I bet ya would love it."

"It's His choice, not mine," she murmured. "Nothing I can do can change that, no matter how much I would like to change it."

The Orc in black sneered and sat down on the rock in frustration. "I've never asked for this, never wanted it. Still don't want it." He then sighed. "I knew ya would chase me across the whole continent, I just didn't want to accept it. Still thought I could lose ya."

The Third knelt in front of him. "There's no running from this. You can't outrun fate or destiny." The words got stuck in his throat, because saying them was much more painful than he expected. He understood the Orc in front of him. His tough choice, his path. _One soul in exchange for thousands...how many would make that sacrifice? Very few are brave enough to even think about it...but each one of us would do it. We are his Triune, we are Vosh Rahk, Vorkhim Lorak and the Penitent. We wouldn't hesitate. Is this why you didn't choose any of us, Warrior? Is this his test, not ours?_ He took a deep breath, Rakash's red eyes closely watching him. "You have to take your stand, face it on your feet, stand up to who you are. And who He is. Orcs can't be defeated, only delayed. And so does He. How long do you think you can keep running?"

The Third would swear he heard a spine break under his words and the Orc in black sagged in front of him, the hammer relentlessly striking the metal of his soul, bending it, shaping it. "Yeah, I guess," Rakash murmured and the Third sighed. _I didn't want to extinguish the fire that is your soul, lad, but you have to face the truth-_

A smirk then appeared on Rakash's face and eyes that looked back at the Third burned with mischievous fire. "Ya are right. I can't keep runnin' forever. It's about time I faced Him. Personally." He stood up and the Third took a step back with a hand on his sword, but the Orc wasn't even looking at him. Instead he was looking to the distance, taking another step towards the ledge of the rock. He looked over his shoulder. "I'll give him yer regards."

And then he jumped.

All three knights just stared as he disappeared from their sight and High Priestess shouted: "No!" They ran to the edge, expecting to see a broken body being swarmed by Dunerippers at the foundation of the rock...but it wasn't there. The air just twinkled with purple magic with no sight of the Orc in black.

"He outsmarted us," Yaman rumbled after a long while, reminding his companions he was still there. "Again."

"Fuck!" High Priestess shouted to the skies and the Third ran to the makeshift tent, looking for a piece of paper he knew would be there. _He likes to talk...he would write it all down._ And there it was, under small rock. He took it into his hands and began reading.

He had to go through details of some heist he did back at College first and then there it was. The final lines.

 _Ah, my mind and hands wandered off. I see you closing. Was I really writing all this for so long? Most likely. You certainly look like shit, all three of you._

 _I guess this is the last entry then. I wonder if you're going to read it after what's going to happen now._

 _Let me just write the last words here._

 _Nothing ever goes as planned..._

 _PS: Have you wondered why I drew you here of all places? I think that right now we're exactly in the middle of the desert. How much water do you have, hmm? If you're reading this you probably just saw me vanish. Hehehehe. I've learned a few tricks from Telvanni after all. Have you ever heard about Mark and Recall spells? Good luck out here._

The Third let the paper fall out of his hands and looked in the direction they came. "He can be anywhere from Dragontail Mountains to Craglorn now."

"How could we let him slip between our fingers again?" High Priestess growled in anger. "Why, Trinimac? Where are you when we need you?"

"Where are we when he needs us?" replied Yaman and both the Third and High Priestess looked at him surprised. The big Orc pointed into the distance and sighed.

The Third looked at the mountains in the distance and nodded. _He's right. We are trying to force him into something he doesn't want to do. We should be helping him instead….Where are we when you need us, Grulmar gro-Largash?_


End file.
